Prologue
“Hey, buddy, I need someone to take a look at my car,” a deep timber voice booms from right outside. Pushing myself out from underneath the BMW I’ve spent most of the morning working on, I come face-to-body with a muscled-up hulk of a man. My eyes travel from his loose-fitting jeans up to his Henley shirt that’s two sizes too small, judging by the way it clings to his toned chest and arms, his muscles almost busting through.
When my gaze finally makes it to his gorgeous face, I see that he’s sporting a nicely trimmed beard that lines his strong jaw. His dark hair matches the color of his beard, and I’d say he’s a perfect ten except for that cocky-as-hell expression on his face. That knocks him down a few notches, in my opinion, and by the looks of that pretty car he’s driving I’d say he’s a spoiled rich boy and wants everyone to know it. His eyes growing to the size of saucers makes me bite back a laugh.
“How can I help you?” I ask as I climb off of the rolling creeper.
“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise? You’re not what I was expecting, but like I said, I need someone to look at my car; it’s misfiring and needs a new set of tires.” Yep, entitled little prick.
“The receptionist at the front desk can set you up with an appointment.” Pulling the towel out of my back pocket, I wipe the grease off my hands. When I look back up, he’s still standing there with a perplexed look. Umm…did he not understand me?
“Can’t you fit me in now?” He bats his eyes and sticks out his bottom lip. Does that shit really work for him? Give women some puppy dog look and they fall at his feet? That shit won’t work with me. He goes on. “I’m sure it won’t take long, and after last night, can’t you do me this one little favor? I gotta tell you, though, I didn’t take you for a car kind of girl.” What the hell is he talking about?
Narrowing my eyes, I look at him with what I’m sure is my confused as all get-out expression and ask, “What are you talking about? I don’t know you.”
“What, you gain amnesia overnight or some shit? You were in my apartment.” He laughs.
My mouth drops to the ground and my hand lands on my hip. “No, I don’t have amnesia! I know where the hell I was last night, and it sure as shit wasn’t with you.” I am fuming!
“If you can’t even remember meeting someone, then maybe you shouldn’t be working on my car, little girl. You’d probably make matters worse anyway.” He lifts his arms, crossing them over his huge chest, and challenges me with his eyes.
Oh, if he wants a challenge I’ll give him one, because I have never been one to back down. Sneering, I say, “Look here, whatever your name is…” He starts to open his mouth, but I hold up my hand, cutting him off. “You want to assume I can’t do my job because—what? Because I’m a woman?”
Putting the towel I’ve been clenching in my back pocket, I take a few steps up to this arrogant asshat. “How much do you know about that pretty little car you drive? Do you drive her because you appreciate the power, what’s under the hood, and the gentleness? Or…do you drive her because she’s the same as you like women: fast and easy? I would put my money on the latter, but let me give you a bit of information.” A grin plays on my lips.
“The first-generation Dodge Challenger was manufactured by Chrysler in 1959. It was a limited-edition silver club sedan, meaning it only came in the color silver and was considered a full-size car even though it was only a two-door.” I rattle off some details about the next few generations of the Challenger before hitting him with the knowledge that will really make his head spin. “Now, fourth generation—the one you drove up on with its twenty-inch wheels—is the newest generation...so far. It was released in 2008. Yours sitting out there has a new 6.4-liter Hemi V8 engine. With the new engine, you gain 470 horsepower per second and 470 foot-pounds of torque, but they sacrificed peak horsepower ratings for low-end torque. If you were to test her limits, you could make a quarter mile run in 12.9 seconds at a speed of 110 miles per hour.” I stop, take a few quick breaths from my rant, and begin again. “My guess would be it’s a manual car, which means the person behind the wheel likes to have control and needs to know exactly how to handle a car like that. But... I would also say that you’ve never tried to test her limits, judging by the way your mouth is hanging open.”
Smiling ear-to-ear, I finish. “Now, go make your appointment so I can get back to my job, and don’t ever question my ability again.” Watching his expression go from shock to wonder to lust is hilarious, but I’m done playing and need to finish up on the BMW.
Turning back to the rolling creeper, I only make it a few steps away before his hand grips my arm and I’m spun around, my back pressed against the BMW. His muscular arms cage me in, his head dips down close to my ear, and his deep voice whispers against my ear. “That was sexy as fuck!”
“You liked that, did you?” When I lean back, his brown eyes—rich, like mocha—meet mine. They shine down at me because he thinks he has me right where he wants me. Giving him an evil smile, I say, “And don’t ever call me little girl again.”
“And what if I do?” He smirks.
I’m over his ego; am I really going to have to put him in his place again? Guess so. I shrug my shoulder and bring my knee up. Without him suspecting, I connect with his nuts. Hard!
He roars in pain, drops his arms, and grabs a hold of himself. “Son of a bitch, why the fuck would you do that?” He groans, his eyes tightly screwed shut. He sits on the concrete floor, breathing deeply.
“Why? Because you deserved it—and maybe next time you will think twice before insulting me, caging me in, and then hitting on me. Now, like I said, go make your appointment so I can get back to work.” Not waiting for a reply, I get on the rolling creeper and get back to the BMW.